The Monk Palash
The flame-of-the-forest, palash brushing against the balcony of my second floor flat has turned orange-red. Its the usual time for it to shed green and go monk. Little sunbirds - simply clad ones and those in royal-satin, blue, green and purple flit around the blossom laden branches since daybreak. The tree is alive with the tweets of the little birdies and chirping and squawking mynas. To keep them company are the frolicking, squeaking squirrels. Screeching parrots are the largest visitors on the tree. Its a delight to follow the swift birds taking in the nectar from the blooms. The sunbirds, called shakkarkhora (literally, sugar-devourer) sip the nectar in the flowers with their tiny long beaks, often hanging upside-down to reach the carpals. I often wonder if they 'drink to the lees'. Little red-brown bees become visible when the ruckus and flurry of movements created by the birds subsides with the climbing sun. Until a few years...